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What’s Art?

Perhaps unanswerable, often debated, right up there with “if there is a God, is it a woman?” question.

Songspan The play ART,  for example, written by Yesmina Reza, which premiered in 1994, posed some interesting questions about friendship and art.The “art” in question was a 4 by 5 foot, totally white on white canvas, with no figurative elements. Ostensibly, this play was more about friendship than what is ‘modern’ or ‘abstract’  art. But, the age-old question was bandied about…”what is art?”

I, for one, am oftentimes bewildered, amused or bemused by what I am looking at. I mean, really, have you been to the Dia Center in Beacon, N.Y.?  Nonetheless, I enjoy the experience and am enthusiastic to view new work.

For those of you who share my initial reactions, here’s something that is currently at MoMa which absolutely engaged and wowed me. It is called The Collective Ingredients of a Beijing LIfe  The conceptualist artist, Song Dong, turned the contents of his mother’s home, which was also his childhood home, into the installation called “Waste Not.”

We are talking here about EVERYTHING his mother had in their home.

“For nearly 60 years she lived in the city with her husband and two
children in a tiny house crammed with domestic odds and ends — clothes,
books, kitchen utensils, toiletries, school supplies, shopping bags,
rice bowls, dolls — which were used, then recycled, then
indiscriminately hoarded. Now the entire cache, every odd button and
ballpoint pen, is at MoMA, along with Ms. Zhao’s fridge and bed.”

A Tribute to Mom.

Not really. There were deeper and more meaningful rationals for this creation. Whether you think it is Art, or not, remains the question of the hour.

 

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A Starbucks by any other name…

Yup, it appears that the ubiquitous Starbucks is rethinking what to call a few of its new stores. Recession, tastes, anti establishment, McDonald's McCafe, are perhaps a few of the reasons cited to explain the rationale behind this maneuver.

So it got me thinking.

How many name changes have occurred that actually changed the product, or the public's perception of the product?

So, I did a little research to see who had changed their name. You can make your own calls as to whether this altered your sensibilities. I might just give an editorial comment or two…

We've got Anderson Consulting that changed its name to Accenture. Turns out this was a fortuitous manuever after Anderson's accounting scandals.

Cosmair became L'Oreal. It did? Why?

Google, believe it or not, was called Backrub…go figure

Healthy Choice was called Diet Deluxe. A masterful name change, don't you think?

Jerry's Guide to the World WIde Web is now Yahoo. Which, purportedly is an acronym for "Yet Another
Hierarchical Officious Oracle".

Prince, who I am sure had yet another name (which I don't know) became a symbol (which I also don't know.)

You could also be a child of George Forman, have many siblings, all of which are called George, which makes it really easy to not get into trouble by blaming one of the other Georges.

I think I will wait and see what happens to the newly named Starbucks, rue the day I didn't buy into the heretofore Backrub now Google offering and be content that I know that a (whatever) by any other name (whatever) is still a (whatever) as long as it has lots of advertising dollars to spend to support it.

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The first time

During the teen years for some, twenties, thirties (or older) for others, there was a first time.

This is not THAT first time.

The first time I’m talking about is the, I can’t believe I’m a middle aged woman doing IT,  after not doing IT for a long time, time.

My friend Gloria once gave me this advice, “when feeling the effects of gravity”, she said, “stand on your head.” But, really, it’s not an easy position to maintain, or for that matter to explain, as one is circling the bed (couch, floor, or other locale for lust).

So here we are, eager to participate and wondering how we can affect this maneuver gracefully, confidently and easily….without calling in a body double.

It’s all pretty manageable in the evening…room darkened, slipping under the covers, lying down, which, for most of us, allows for gravity to be held at bay.

It’s the morning that worries us.

Unless you have blindfolded him in an attempt to recapture some Lone Ranger and Tonto fantasy, the room is bright, the clothes are strewn about, he’s awake and you have to pee.

Choices.

My friend Herbie, who is in very very good shape, for close to 60, tells me about the time he was in bed with a woman in her late fifties. Upon awakening, he finds her standing over him, hands on her hips, announcing, “take a good look, this is what 58 looks like.” Now let’s think about this.
First, most men of Herbie’s age need reading glasses to see things close up. If she thought he could actually see her, she knew that it would be vaguely blurry. Secondly, shock and awe, which didn’t really effect the maneuver Bush had in mind, does momentarily have it’s upside. He was taken aback, somewhat chagrined and probably looked away. His date was now 2 for 2. I haven’t considered this option, but haven’t negated it either.

Here are a few thoughts I have had about what we can do.

First, there is the crab walk exit. That would be the slipping from the bed and sidling out of the room sideways, keeping up a steady stream of chit chat, but avoiding the full rear view. Of course, this only works if you think that your profile is the better option.

We could try the removal of the sheet, like pulling the tablecloth from beneath the table full of dishes trick. Nah, I could never master that trick either.  The picture in my head of unfurling him, possibly causing him to roll right off the bed, reduces me to uncontrollable giggles.

The third choice is to retrieve and put on the (oh so) casually dropped oversized shirt that you’ve  stuffed/planted by the bed.

The last option, and clearly the only option, is to get up, stride into the john and appreciate I am, like Popeye, what I am.

Besides, unless you’ve bedded some sweet young thing, I imagine that this current partner is probably not peering at you at all, he is rooting around his side of the bed trying to locate the cap to his bottle of Viagra.

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The Brazilian

Not these Brazilians:
Gisele Bundchen, or The Bikini Waxing to end all bikini waxings, or the classic movie Brazil directed by Terry Gilliam, (he would brought us Monty Python) with the screenplay by Tom Stoppard. Not incidently, you might really want to see this movie…

The Brazilian I am referring to, is the latest treatment craze, in the never ending "does this treatment work?" craze, perhaps  promising us eternal youth (not really), a happier life (not really), in this case, only defrizzed hair.
Which, for some, is akin to eternal youth and a happier life.

The promise of defrizzed hair does come with a few concerns In Curls, Split! Ringlets, BeGone! the article that I read in the New York Times, they suggest that the use of formaldehyde might be of some concern. "There are risks. There’s the hot iron. And the formula often contains
formaldehyde, a known carcinogen that can irritate the eyes and lungs
if the fumes are inhaled. A spokeswoman for the Food and Drug Administration, however, said that the agency has no restrictions on the use of formaldehyde in cosmetics."

I think, in a blog I wrote, "Back Hurt?" that the FDA might be somehow marginalized as a consistent source of what's okay and not okay witnessed by the recurring recalls of products that heretofore were just dandy?

So, yet another product that I considered, for a nano second, is put into the discarded pile of products that will tame, brighten, smooth or enhance what my genetics didn't offer up…

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Schadenfreude

Schandenfreude I know I spelled it correctly because I looked it up.
Not sure if I can pronounce it…however.
Nonetheless, I think it’s a great word. Of course, most of us don’t/won’t/can’t admit to the feeling of schadenfreude, let alone to try to use it in a sentence.

But, it seems to me if we have a little recap of the past couple of months we can agree that even if we don’t derive enjoyment (it does feel wrong, doesn’t it?) from others troubles, there is a tad bit of snarkiness…when thinking about the following individuals, isn’t there?

Sarah Palin, Dick Cheney, George W, Mark Sanford, to name a few, in the political arena

Bernie Madoff, Weizhen Tang, Clelia Flores, Jeffrey Guidi, Gary Armitage, James Koenig in the financial world.

And, I am sure that you have your own lists, which I would personally and no doubt gleefully love to hear about.

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Reading Material

The following is a conversation (verbatim) I had with an acquaintance, this past weekend.

"I know, it's a bit insane" she said.
"What's insane?" I asked.
"As soon as you notice the dates on the newspaper I am reading" she responded, "you'll think I'm insane." So I said, "okay, I'll bite, what's the date of that specific newspaper you are reading, and I might as well ask about the rest of them in that pile next to you."

"June 2008", she said.

I know it's probably bad form to say, "yup, that's insane."  I opted for a "well, it is a tad eccentric."
"I know" she said, "but it's a thing I do, I must read every word of every paper, and I sometimes fall behind."
"But, she added, gotta tell you, the news was much better then."

I guess it might be hard for her to have a pithy conversation at a cocktail party, water cooler or some such gathering place, about what's currently happening…but she'd be great in giving some historical perspective, wouldn't she?

And so I loved the article in August's Vanity Fair Magazine, What's A Culture Snob To Do?  If, in fact, we are judged (somewhat, but more often than not) by what we are reading, the age of the Kindle, iphone, and any other electronic media, has denied us the opportunity of being instantly judgmental.

Don't agree?

When was the last time you espied a really really attractive person,observed them as they retrieved a book from their bag, and, much to your dismay (you were hoping for something that would, perhaps, prompt a conversation), saw they were reading, something along the lines of, Bridges of Madison County, the sequel. Unless, of course,that person opposite you was Clint Eastwood.

Yes, I am that shallow.

Anyway, if I can't make snap judgments about you by what you are reading anymore, I'll have to rely on something else. Maybe the fact that you have your iPhone, iPod, your Kindle and your laptop all spread before you says all I need to know about you.

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Calories in Calories Out

Everyday there is a glut of information about how to slim down.

Make my friends fatter We’ve got the Flat Belly Diet, The Cabbage Diet, Acai Berry Diet, Special K diet, The Bernie Madoff go to prison for 150 years and see if you feel like eating diet, The Ruth Madoff I can’t get served, let alone fed, in any restaurant diet. Just to name a few. Every diet works.

Keeping it off, as we know (that would be all you honorary, current and future members of the Yo-Yo club) is the challenge.

I have no insights, answers or suggestions.

 

What I do have is indignation. For recently, I read that menopausal women can expect, in addition to mood swings and sweats to gain weight without increasing their caloric intake. Fascinating piece of info, right?

 

Fat, sweaty, bitchy. Helluva combo.

 

Apparently, as we age, the body burns fewer calories. The metabolism slows.

 

Chewing faster doesn’t seem to be the antidote.

 

It requires a more concerted effort of increasing aerobic exercise and eating less that 1500 calories a day. For, at the end of the day, all the fad diets notwithstanding, nutritionists tell us it’s about calories in and calories out.

 

Tri-athlon anyone?

 

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Get rich quick schemes

Well, it clearly isn't going to happen from the Stock Market, at least these days, so folks are needing to be pretty clever as to how to maintain their life style and have enough for their retirement.

To that end, some pretty lucky Lottery playing individual is now the proud recipient of 133 million bucks. Assuming they know they won and come forward to claim their bounty. Would be a sad state of affairs if they lost their ticket on the way out of the convenience store. Why that might prompt a name change to the inconvenience store.

As far as winning the lottery, in reality the odds of hitting the big, huge, Mega Millions jackpot are something along the lines of 176 million to 1. When queried about why people would think that the odds of winning are in their favor, regardless of the statistics against it, Richard Wiseman, a professor of Psychology at the University of Hertfordshire, in England, wrote "People play the lottery, in general because they think they're special." I don't know about that, I think I am pretty special, but if the odds of dying are greater than the odds of winning, how special could I be?

I found another plan.

Have an affair with an elected official. A senator might be a good choice.

Apparently, Senator John Ensign's parents gave his mistress thousands. Ninety six thousand to be exact. Senator Ensign, a republican from Nevada, was involved in a little hanky panky from December 2007 to August 2008. His mistress had 6 months work for 100 grand. Not a bad return on investment.

Of course, I can't imagine being the recipient of that kind of largesse myself. While still pretty feisty, my ingenue days are long gone, I'm afraid.

But since it did happen in Nevada, land of legalized gambling, perhaps you'd like to engage, with me, in a game of Bingo, twenty-one, blackjack, or craps? "C'mon, roll 'em."

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Talking to strangers

Let's start with the definition of stranger. According to Merriam-Webster a stranger is:

  • Main Entry: 1strang·er
  • Pronunciation: \ˈstrān-jər\
  • Function: noun
  • Etymology: Middle English, from Anglo-French estrangier stranger, foreigner, from estrange
  • Date: 14th century

1 : one who is strange: as a (1) : foreigner (2) : a resident alien b : one in the house of another as a guest, visitor, or intruder c : a person or thing that is unknown or with whom one is unacquainted d : one who does not belong to or is kept from the activities of a group e : one not privy or party to an act, contract, or title : one that interferes without right
2 : one ignorant of or unacquainted with someone or something

Movies, witnessed by their titles, suggest that Strangers are to be avoided. "Perfect Stranger, Strangers on a Train, Dr. Stranger(sic)love, When a Stranger Calls, Stranger Than Fiction." Other than "Love With the Proper Stranger" which gave us Steve McQueen, who would instantly have become my new best friend, all other "strangers" connote weird, scary or bizarre.

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I suppose then, when at a dinner party, seated next to someone I've never met before,  I can chatter away, entertain, be charming, and put my host/hostess at ease that there won't be dead silence at my end of the table. I adhere to the "guest" part of the above definition. Piece of cake.

Sit next to me at a Sushi bar, on a plane, train, any other moving vehicle, or at the doctor's office, and I go mute.
Purposefully, intentionally, without reservations, mute.

My charming button is switched off.

Not interested in knowing what you're eating, how long you've been waiting to board/leave/endure the vehicle you are taking to a place I have no interest in discussing, or knowing what ailments you have been treated for in the past and are being treated for right now, at this very second in time.

So I dutifully nod, give a rather tight smile and study my feet, nails, the sky, anything to avoid eye contact. Eye contact is deadly. They look at you soulfully, hoping for a bit of human contact…I have to do everything in my power to not succumb.  To date, this has pretty much worked for me.

Which I suspect might give be the reason that the Facebooks, Linked-in, Twitters of the world have become so popular. It certainly allows for social interactions without ever having to utter a syllable of sound. And, when you don't want to interact you simply sign off, hit ignore, or delete.
Poof, they are gone. No hurt feelings, no soulful looks, blame your disappearance on your internet's bad connection.

All of this works well, unless, that is, you find yourself seated next to me at a dinner party, having previously attempted to engage me in conversation at the bus stop, doctor's office, or restaurant and remember me as "she who did not respond."  No amount of assurances from the host/hostess will comfort you in being sanguine with your seat assignment, next to the MUTE. And I guess, it works for me too, I can keep my charming button switched off awhile longer and simply savor the meal that has been put before me.

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Stupidstitions

Superstitions I find it bizarre that friends (are they actually friends?) are compelled to send off notes that are fundamentally somewhat inane and then tell you that you will have terrible things happen to you if you don’t copy, paste and forward it on to an additional ten people, whom you obviously don’t like, either.

So, I don’t.

 

Then I wait for something horrible to happen to me. Since it hasn’t, so far, I imagine I have once again, escaped the wrath of the “why didn’t you send this on” Gods. But I do think my days of this are probably numbered, and might have, sometime in the not to distant future, torture a few of those I know, with a forwarded call to action email. Just to be on the safe side.

 

And it is the concept of “just to be on the safe side” that confounds me. We knock wood, we throw salt over our shoulder, we avoid walking under ladders, and will do other rituals to ward off a bad thing happening.

 

Some of us have a talisman.

 

Don’t you love that word? Awkward to gracefully put into a sentence, i.e. “She carried her love letters, written to her, so long long ago, like a talisman… Since it is defined as an object, a charm or some such thing, to bring comfort and solace, we tend to be much more sympathetic to that activity.

 

My comfort comes from my credit cards. Wonder if that counts as a talisman?

 

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